


Like Clay

by Piinutbutter



Category: Hylics (Video Game)
Genre: Consensual Violence, Light Worldbuilding, M/M, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 09:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13923831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piinutbutter/pseuds/Piinutbutter
Summary: A little death every now and then does the flesh good. What need is there to hold back?





	Like Clay

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as an attempt to write xeno porn, but took a nosedive into worldbuilding along the way. The death mechanic in this game provides so much food for thought.

Dread Knights were born and built to fight.

The new generation often wondered why those words were separate. Born, built - there was no difference. Civilized society had long ago left behind the painful, bloody, squirming mess of childbirth. Gestation periods were a nuisance, as was the wait for a vulnerable, stupid infant to learn to defend itself.

Clay was cleaner, cheaper, and quicker than the old flesh. All one needed to create life was a mold.

Viithorn’s company of knights was something of a legend, by now. A triumph of strength and will, every one of them. When neither strength nor will was needed by the outside world, the last remaining knight was left to lock himself away, dreaming of another chance to show his strength.

When opportunity arrived in the form of a wide-eyed trio of misfits, the Dread Knight Pongorma wasted no time demanding a battle. He had, perhaps, underestimated how rusty his skills would become over years of idle solitude.

Nevertheless, a knight did not take defeat gracelessly. Pongorma offered a hand to the calm, tall man who headed the mighty group, and professed his loyalty to their cause, whatever it may be.

The man gave him a lazy smile and said, “Cool. We’re gonna go mess up the king of the moon.”

Wayne, the man’s name was. He didn’t act much like the leader of a battle group. He was laid-back and quiet, taking frequent detours and breaks from their supposed quest. One afternoon, while Dedusmuln and Somsnosa slept their wounds away in Wayne’s bathtub, Pongorma confronted him.

“Forgive me if I presume,” Pongorma began, sitting down on the couch beside Wayne. Wayne’s cat, a frankly ugly breed that Pongorma had never laid eyes on before, jumped into the knight’s lap. “But I cannot help but wonder at the shape of your head.”

Wayne stopped fiddling with the plastic wrapping of a juice box and glanced over at him. He reached up and felt the tips of his crescent-shaped horns. “Yeah? What about it?”

“The only creatures I’ve met with lunar features are those involved with the moon’s royalty.”

Wayne shrugged, finally freeing the flimsy straw from its plastic prison. He didn’t deny it.

“This is personal, then?” Pongorma continued.

Wayne stabbed the straw into the juice box. “Gibby and I have some history, yeah.”

“What is the relationship?” It was purely a strategic question. If they were to confront the king directly, his attitude towards Wayne needed to be accounted for in their plan of attack. It could be something to take advantage of, in the best case.

Wayne simply shrugged again. “We knew each other.”

Very well. A knight did not pry when a hint had been given.

“So, do you want to fight me?”

Wayne blinked at the question. He’d spent the last half hour lazing on the couch, cuddling his cat with his eyes glued to the TV set. “Dude. Don’t you ever chill out?”

Pongorma bristled at the question. “I have been ‘chilling out’ for too many years. My strength is not what it once was. A training regimen must be kept up, if we are to be victorious.”

“The three of us were doing pretty good before you came along. Just saying.”

What disrespect. The knight stood, grasping his sheathed sword. “If that is how you feel, I see no need to continue giving you my unwanted aid.”

Wayne laughed, tossing his third juice box into a corner. He reached over and grabbed Pongorma’s wrist in a loose grip, dislodging the furry beast in his lap in the process. “C’mon, man. It was a joke. Look, you wanna fight? I’ll fight. I’m game. No problemo. Just give me a minute.”

The man’s judgment of a minute did not correspond with Pongorma’s, given how long he continued to laze around. But he did, eventually, pry himself off the couch and stretch his arms, heading for the pile of weapons that had been haphazardly dumped by the door. Pongorma moved the couch aside.

It was clear from the way Wayne carried himself in combat that he’d had some sort of training with a blade. The knowledge was there, but put into practice only half the time, given how sloppy Wayne’s form was around the edges. As their sparring session wore on, Pongorma grew convinced that it was nothing but sheer laziness holding Wayne back from reaching his true potential.

It frustrated him. Near infuriated him.

The dread knight’s patience snapped when Wayne left himself wide open, lunging in for a strike on Pongorma’s side that would be ineffective against any opponent that wasn’t inanimate. And Wayne knew it, given the cheeky smile on his face when Pongorma blocked, grabbed, and twisted Wayne’s arm, pulling him off balance.

“You got me,” Wayne drawled as he straightened out of his stumble. The smug expression didn’t leave his face.

In response, Pongorma bent at the waist and charged like a bull, thrusting his horns into Wayne’s stomach and pinning him up against the wall.

The sword fell from Wayne’s hand and clattered to the floor as his entire body twitched. He reached a hand down to one of the wicked horns that had pierced clean through him, and his fingers came away covered in soft, doughy pink.

“Dude,” he muttered. “You ruined my good jacket.”

Pongorma’s horns slid out of Wayne’s body with no resistance, leaving behind holes that didn’t bleed so much as they twitched. Idly, Wayne poked at one of the wounds. He didn’t look particularly bothered by the damage - it could easily be sculpted over - but his eyes were wide and his hands were shaking. Pongorma almost began to apologize, but then Wayne laughed.

“Well, crap.” Wayne’s head fell back against the wall. His horns made a soft clunk. “Haven’t felt adrenaline like this in forever.”

Slowly, a smile spread across Pongorma’s face. “It is intense, is it not?”

“Yeah.” Wayne pushed himself off the wall and crouched down to grab his sword. “I’ve gotten used to living the easy life. I guess laziness does come with its downsides.”

Pongorma raised his own weapon. “Then allow me to free you from your monotony.”

Wayne didn’t bother to answer. Pongorma stepped out of the path of his strikes, blocking where convenient, and planned the best course of attack. The man’s skills were still clearly rusty, but Wayne wasn’t holding back this time, and it made the whole experience exhilarating.

The new flesh had rendered traditional reproduction meaningless, and evolution had responded by phasing out old-fashioned humanoid sexuality. The pleasure received from any facsimile of copulation was dull and empty in comparison to the soft thrill of a good meal or a hot bath. But the body was always one step ahead of the mind, and new tactics to prolong the species needed to be devised if procreation was no longer a viable route.

With the new technology, death became the best option. Taking a trip between realms every now and then to improve one’s flesh and will would allow for a longer, healthier life. And so, reward paths built themselves over generations, the brain motivating the body to seek out harm and danger by associating it with pleasure.

Somewhere down the line, being penetrated with a weapon became a more pleasurable and intimate experience than any penetration a set of vestigial genitals could simulate.

And so, when Wayne managed to knock Pongorma off balance and gripped two of his horns in both hands, all that passed between them was a moment of meeting gazes and quiet nods. Then, Wayne snapped one of the horns clean off like a child taking his share of an icicle.

Pongorma shuddered, pleasure pulsing sharply through his body, and returned the favor.

 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, Somsnosa came downstairs and was promptly greeted with a mess. Puddles of half-melted body sprawled on the floor, the remnants of what looked like an enthusiastic session of dismemberment.

She sighed and went to grab something to eat. Wayne’s cat rubbed itself against her leg as she rummaged through their supplies, and she gave it a gentle pat, minding her gauntlets. Burrito successfully in hand, she plopped down in front of the TV. If they were all in this together, she was going to have to wait for Wayne and his new friend to sleep off their excitement next to the meat grinder.


End file.
